


Fujiwara Effect

by tropicalgothic



Category: Naruto
Genre: I think it's generally sad so that's a fair warning, Modern AU, More like a minor character death, SasoriMiniBang2020, not really a major character death, tw poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalgothic/pseuds/tropicalgothic
Summary: There will always be experiences that define a person and shape the landscape of their world views. This was one of Sasori's storms.
Kudos: 9
Collections: Sasori Mini Bang





	Fujiwara Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Entry in Sasori Mini Bang 2020, Day 2, Poisonous
> 
> Fujiwhara Effect-The interaction between two, three, or four tropical cyclones within 1500km of each other. These tropical cyclones either attract or repel each other.

In the hospital lobby was a violent storm, and Sasori was trapped in the middle of it.

“Vitals— what are the vitals?”

Someone behind him darted towards the growing front in the middle of the Resuscitation bay. And as the doctors and nurses’ hurried movements surged in intensity, Sasori could feel the temperature in his skin go into free fall.

“We need to secure the airway. Get the suction—“

The harsh fluorescent lights blinded him. He could barely make out the materials being brought in. The green of the oxygen tank. A face that moved from pink and gasping to a quiet ashen color. The flurry of shapes.

“Too much secretions, I can’t get—— Code. Start the time.”

The noise in the room faded. Like when you’re swimming in the sea, and a wave too big, too heavy pushed you down before you could take your last breath.

_Asystole, continue compressions._

Open your mouth, Sasori told himself. _Breathe. Breathe, Sasori. Clamber against the waters and kick the tides away, but you must breathe. You need air, and you need it now._

But his muscles are in rebellion---- all of it. His legs and arms refused to move. And his lungs would not expand. Instead they clamp down. _Breathe._ Until a dark tunnel forms around his vision. _Breathe._ They suffocate. _Breathe._ They bubble up like foam in someone else’s throat and there is no suction to take it all away. And there is no more father to pull him out of the waters he wasn’t supposed to play in. And——

_Honey, breathe into the bag. You’re hyperventilating—_

Sasori took the paper bag and hurled out the bland donburi that had been their attempt at dinner.

_It’s okay, honey. Are you feeling better?_

He wondered if those were his thoughts, whispering to him from another room. And only when he felt a hand rubbing his back did he realize that he wasn’t alone—- blocking the middle of the hallway in this stupor. There was a lady dressed in green scrubs beside him. 

She was talking to him. And he was staring at her, mute and trying to focus his attention on her lips— trying to read, trying to move, trying to come back again——

“How old are you?” He still did not hear her, and did know how he could tell what she was saying. Except that he did.

“F— Four— fourteen,” he whispered, his throat dry as if speaking for the first time.

“Was anyone with you two?”

Sasori shook his head.

“What’s your name?” Minutes seemed to pass, and Sasori was paralyzed once more. “What’s your brother’s name?”

 _He’s not my brother_ , Sasori wanted to say. _I don’t have parents and has two— and they’re expecting him to come-- to come home— and I don’t know what ha—_

But all he got out was “Komushi.”

“Okay,” the lady nodded, and wrote the name down. “We’re doing our best for Komushi right now. And I’m going to get you something to drink, alright?”

Sasori walked behind the lady, softly answering her questions with his head hung low and the paper bag still clutched tightly in his hand. _No, I don’t know what happened. No, Komushi wasn’t sick before. No… Oh, they know. His parents——_

And right before the lady led him into a different room, Sasori heard the echo of an inconsolable wail coming from the lobby.

 _I tried_ , he wanted to say. But Sasori was not his father pulling him out from the waters, knowing exactly what to do. He was fourteen, and going as fast as the three gears on his bike could carry them. _I’m sorry._

He could feel the acid build up in his gut, and threaten a second wave rise that would rise up to his throat. Instead, they come down the sides of his cheek, in torrents he could not control.

This is Sasori’s third dose of death. One for every five years he’s lived. And that is the one that continued to haunt him. 

The anguished cries of a mother behind him formed a violent storm that followed Sasori as he scurried out of the hospital as fast as his wobbly legs could carry him.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing experience started as an RPer, and it was always natural to have muses who hold back memories or their past. And it was always natural to have parts of these reveal themselves at a certain point in time, even if they unfurl one petal at a time. This was a sore one for the Sasori I write or RP-- and I realize the reason why I barely ever write this part of his story even if I write a good amount of his childhood.
> 
> This doesn't really add to the experience of reading it, I'm sorry I crie : )) But I felt it was right or okay to include this in.


End file.
